


if you're going through hell (keep going)

by theonewiththeeyebrows



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Biting, Depression, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Endgame, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunk Sex, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Happy Ending, He's also a teenager, He's just a flawed human, Knotting, Life Happens, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Nemeton, Past Derek Hale/Paige, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Past Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Pining, Scott is a Bad Friend, Stiles gets help, Stiles in Denial, Unsafe Sex, but not really, but they are versatile even though this fic only contains Top!Derek, but they drift apart, fuck buddies, just like Stiles and Derek, magic assisted preping, mentions of Lydia, mentions of Malia, top!Derek/bottom!Stiles, who had to grow up too quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewiththeeyebrows/pseuds/theonewiththeeyebrows
Summary: Stiles didn’t know until he was gone. Until it was a constant ache.A chasm in his chest that nothing could fill.Not all the alcohol in the world. Not all the attempted mindless, nameless fucks. Not magic. Not Scott, not his dad, or his friends. And Stiles couldn’t call him back. Because calling him back would mean that it meant more.And Stiles couldn’t admit that.Not after he had insisted it didn’t.He couldn’t call Derek back, not again. Not after he’d finally gotten him to leave this hell hole again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Explicit fic in this fandom (I think). I have written sex before for the ATWT fandom and it was well received at the time, so I'm hoping y'all will like my fic. 
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. I have tried to comb through it and edit it, but it might change over the next few days as I come across mistakes. 
> 
> All sex is consensual. All sex is legal (Stiles is 19 when they start their relationship -- for the purpose of this fic, Stiles' birthday is July 5th, Derek leaves towards the end of September). 
> 
> Story notes in the bottom.

Stiles doesn’t know until _he'_ s gone. Until it is a constant ache. A chasm in his chest that nothing can fill - not all the alcohol in the world, nor all the attempted mindless nameless fucks, nor magic, nor Scott, his dad, his friends.

And Stiles can’t call him back. Because calling him back would mean that it meant more, and Stiles can’t admit that. Not after he insisted it didn't mean anything. He can’t call Derek back again.

Not after Stiles finally got him to leave this hell hole.

* * *

When everyone leaves for college, Stiles is the only one left behind.

Stiles can see the disappointed clench of his father’s jaw at the dinner table, over the glass of whiskey that he’d started drinking nightly. The sharp edge of his words cutting, when he talks about Scott’s emails updating the ‘family’ about his latest escapades at college.

Stiles starts staying out later when he can’t deal with it anymore. Sleep doesn’t come easily most nights, and his father is used to his noise, his nightmares. Had been for years. Ever since his mom.

Malia and Lydia had been safe harbors for him during a time when he didn’t want to acknowledge he was drowning. They didn’t keep the nightmares at bay, but they gave him something to keep him distracted. Malia gave him a problem that he had to solve -- not that she was a problem, but Malia had been living as a Coyote for years and assimilating her into human society was a challenge Stiles could lose himself him. He could ignore his own problems in favor of Malia’s. They never officially broke up, but Malia had started growing more distant when her connection to Peter came to light, and when Peter found out that there could be someone who was dependent on him, he started to step up. He stopped being the complete manipulative jackass that he was and started putting Malia’s needs above his own. Malia didn’t stop needing Stiles, but she realized that their relationship wasn’t the healthiest, while it wasn’t official, when Lydia kissed him in Malia’s presence she just shrugged, smirked at him, and gave him a ‘thumbs up’. Malia and Peter left two weeks later – he occasionally gets emails from her that let him know she’s okay. But Peter has money (and investments) and he really does seem to care about Malia, so Stiles isn’t really worried.

Stiles’ relationship with Lydia gave him another problem he could focus on. His nightmares had been getting worse, and Lydia had been growing stronger – so trying to help Lydia became Stiles’ focus. Lydia spent her time trying to keep her pristine GPA unaffected, and while Stiles’ GPA slipped, he tried to figure out how to get her to stay under the radar while still solving Beacon Hills’ latest string of Supernatural Problem. He managed to get connected to an Irish support group Headquartered in New York (apparently, a high number of Irish immigrants in the 1800s came from supernatural families, and there was a Nexus of supernatural creatures that had a Chapter at MIT and Lydia had kissed him when he gave her that information). When Jackson returned over the summer after graduation, Stiles hadn’t expected Lydia and Jackson to reconnect, but he hadn’t been surprised to walk into her room to find them making out furiously against her closet door, either. She had been apologetic, but Stiles had shrugged and wryly said “the power of true human love, right?” before walking back to his jeep and driving home. He had realized a long time ago that he didn’t love Lydia; not like his sixteen-year-old self thought he did, anyway.

The thing is, when Stiles was with Malia and Lydia, Stiles’ nightmares didn’t get worse, but they didn’t get better. When he wasn’t with them, though, it was all he could think about – he would wake up drenched in sweat and through the entire day his nightmare would be playing on a constant loop on the back of his eyelids every time he blinked.

So, when his friends are gone for college and his house no longer feels like home. He ends up at the ruins of the old Hale house out on the Preserve. It’s funny that the county never claimed it and condemned it, it’s in worse condition than it was three years ago when he was here last, the night Derek became the Alpha. He grips his flashlight and cautiously makes his way up the stairs. There’s a room that’s closed, and when he opens it, it looks clean, except for the layer of dust covering everything – there’s a mattress laying on the ground and it’s clean too. He checks it and it doesn’t have any bed bugs. So, he lays down on it. He wonders if this is the room Derek lived in when they were trying to hunt a feral Peter.

He starts coming out to the house every day, he’s been feeling an energy growing inside him for a long time, and he doesn’t know what to do, so he comes to this house. He cleans Derek’s Room (he calls it that because it makes him feel safe), gets new sheets. He even buys a small dresser from goodwill for fifteen dollars and he’s got a few clothes and essentials in there.

It’s his birthday. It’s been a few months since Scott called -- his dad still calls Scott every weekend. But Scott hasn’t called Stiles in months. Malia and Lydia haven’t emailed or texted either. In the morning, his dad just looked over at Stiles when he came down for breakfast, frowned at him, got up and went to work. Stiles feels hollow, but that energy inside him that has been building feels like it is about to build to a crescendo, so he drives out to the Preserve. He barely makes it to the steps of the Hale house when he falls to his knees, fingers digging into the earth, and lets out a guttural cry. He feels his body vibrate and shudder and he seems to leave his body momentarily. He feels so weak.

Stiles drags himself into Derek’s Room, passing out on the mattress. He wakes up to the feeling of a warm hand in his hair and soft murmuring. He would have startled awake, but he doesn’t have the energy.

“Hey! It’s me.”

“Whuuu—“ Stiles can’t open his eyes, the voice sounds far away, but familiar. His brain is too fuddled up to place it.

“Derek.” Stiles falls asleep again, unable to focus.

When Stiles wakes up again, he isn’t in the wreckage of the old Hale house anymore. He is at Derek’s loft and very confused. He goes down the stairs to find Derek lounging on his sofa in soft-looking Pajama pants.

“What are you doing here? What am _I_ doing here?”

“Hi, Stiles! Long time no see, how are you doing?”

“Pleasantries can wait. I want answers.”

“Ok then. I was summoned, you summoned me, through the earth.”

“What?”

“Your magic. I don’t think you knew what you were doing, but the land is my family’s land, so I’m intrinsically connected to it and I’m the Alpha.” The confusion must show on his face because Derek continues his explanation. “After Braeden and I left, it was gradual but I reacquired my Alpha status. Apparently, healing Cora didn’t cause me to lose my Alpha power, but because I didn’t rise to Alpha through inheritance or merit and because I killed for it, it was in some sort of ‘trial’ where I had to prove myself worthy. Somewhere along the way, I must have done that because one day I woke up and I had I transcended back to Alpha.”

“Oh wow. That must have been a riot. But how did I summon you? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I just know that I felt a pull in my core that said I was needed, I got in my car and drove 20 hours straight till I reach the house. I could smell the ozone smell that accompanies magic, and I could smell you very strongly. I found you in my old room, which – well done on cleaning it, are you squatting there? You know you could have just gone to the loft. I let your dad know you’re staying with me for a few days so that he wouldn’t worry. He wasn’t happy but he didn’t question it. That was three days ago, by the way. You’ve been passed out for days.”

“THREE DAYS! Shouldn’t you have lead with that!”

“I wasn’t worried. You were breathing fine, and your heartbeat was strong. I could feel you taking some of my energy.”

“What do you mean _taking some of your energy_?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. I’d touch you and you’d sort of pull it out of me, it wasn’t unpleasant or something I couldn’t handle. I wanted to do it, too.”

“So, I essentially went all incubus on you? Fed on your aura?”

“No, Stiles. I was looking after you. I could have stopped it. But I wanted to take care of you.”

“Oh.”

“Why does that surprise you?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Okay. Let’s pretend I didn’t hear your heart stutter right then.”

“Derek. I should go.”

“Stiles, you called me back. What happened?”

“I didn’t mean to. You can go. You _should_ go. I should --” Stiles doesn’t wait for an answer, he can barely catch his breath when he reaches the industrial door that leads out of the building. He’s in the midst of a full-blown panic attack.  

Stiles tries not to go back to the Hale house, but Derek’s Room had become his safe place. The only place where he doesn’t feel like the world is closing in on him. He stays away for days, hiding under the bridge near the river, and the library instead, but three days later he ends up in Derek’s Room again, huddling under his comforter with a stolen library book. The bed is covered in fur, and he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised when a wolf jumps up on the bed with him and he shrieks in fear.

When he has a lap-full of naked Derek instead of wolf, he smacks him on the shoulder open palmed, “OH MY GOD! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST DID THAT TO ME! I ALMOST HAD A HEART ATTACK!”

“You haven’t been here in days.”

“I thought it wouldn’t be safe. Turns out I was right.” Stiles is pleased with Derek’s affronted look.

“I figured you’d try to avoid me. But my offer stands. The loft is still available to you – plus it has electricity and running water. I’ll even buy you a TV and router.”

“This place feels like home.”

“It’s falling down.”

“But it’s safe.”

“Um. Untrue -- I’ll call contractors and tear it down if that’s what it will take to prevent you from dying a terrible death in the burnt-out shell of my family home.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not? The land belongs to me. I pay taxes and everything.”

“Oh. Is that why --? I always wondered.”

“Yeah – I couldn’t bear the thought of the county taking the land. Maybe one day I’ll be able to come back here without feeling like my insides are raw, and I’ll be able to have a family and I’ll build us a home.”

“Sentimental, much?”

Derek doesn’t answer, just looks out into an unseeing distance in the small, burnt room.

“Fine. I’ll come to the loft instead. But you have to make sure all my stuff is moved there by tomorrow.”

“Done. Thank you.”

“Why do you even care.”

“You might not be pack, but I still care, Stiles.”

“Yeah, but why?”

Derek shrugs, “Call me sentimental.”

* * *

Stiles doesn’t really recall how it started.

Derek is at his loft all the time. He is there on the anniversary of Stiles’ mom’s death, and on the anniversary of Allison’s. He never tries to pity Stiles, and he never judges. He just lets Stiles be.  He doesn’t talk about Scott or the successes of Scott’s pack. He occasionally talks about Cora and how he wishes she was part of his pack, but Stiles can see the same self-loathing he has for himself mirrored within Derek, and he knows that if nothing else, he has company and misery loves company.

Things get worse at home and there’s a duffle with a bunch of Stiles’ clothes in the corner of Derek’s loft. He hardly makes it home anymore, not that his dad has bothered calling. But the longer his phone stays silent, the more Stiles drinks. But then Derek’s in his space, breathing in his air. He doesn’t remember arguing with Derek but he knows it’s a fight that has Derek pushing him against the windows of the loft. They bite at each other’s lips, and Stiles is way too drunk, but it’s been far too long since he got laid. Lydia ghosted out of town, without so much as a goodbye text, and it should have hurt but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to care. He had gone to Jungle a few times. Juana Bang and the other girls had got him drunk but they’d always been way too overprotective of him to let him go into the backroom with strangers, no matter how much he wanted to. So, when Derek gets in his face, it’s easy to press up against him and push his buttons like an expert. They’re both easily riled up when it comes to the other, after all.

Stiles recalls his shirt being torn off his torso. He remembers the scrape of stubble on the inside of his thighs. He remembers the stretch of Derek’s fingers as he pressed into Stiles. He remembers his wanton moans and curses, and begging Derek for his mouth, his dick, begging Derek to let him come. He remembers coming around a healthy girth that edged on pain from shoddy prep. He remembers his nails digging into Derek’s pectorals, as he undulated his hips, sitting on his still hard dick. He remembers Derek’s bruising grip when he held Stiles down, preventing him from grinding down onto his dick. He remembers his arousal hitting highs it had never reached as he grew hard from the feeling of Derek’s dick pressed against his throbbing prostate. He was oversensitive and when Stiles begged Derek to fuck him, he remembers the ache of Derek withdrawing. He remembers the relief of him slamming back in and filling him just right. He remembers the feel of Derek’s skin in his mouth as he muffled his moans. The intensity of his second orgasm that had him biting down and tasting the copper of Derek’s blood. He remembers the way Derek’s hips stuttered inside him, before pulling him so close, Derek’s nails sharp and biting against his ass-cheeks and Derek’s teeth sharp against his temple.

He remembers waking up to Derek, asleep but half-hard, and half inside him, and he remembers, rolling back against it before pulling off it – the angle terrible. He remembers pushing Derek back onto his bed, straddling him as he blinked into consciousness just as Stiles sat on Derek’s cocks, starting up a brutal pace that had Derek grabbing the headboard with one hand and Stiles’ hip with the other as he tried to gentle Stiles’ pace.

“Fuck, Derek!”

“Stiles.”

“You feel so fucking good.”

“Ungh.”

“I want you in me all the time. FUCK!”

“Slow down.”

“FUCK ME! Oh God, Derek, fuck! Your dick. So perfect! Fuck! Fuck me good.”

“Slow down!”

“I want your come. I want it, Derek. Fuck it into me.”

“Stiles!”

“You forgot the condom last night, but I don’t care. I just want it. I want your dick, and your come, and your fucking bruises all over me.”

Derek snarls, unseating Stiles.

“You fucker!” Stiles yells, but before he can protest too much, he’s flipped over, shoulders pinned to the mattress and ass in the air. Derek pushes Stiles knees apart and fucks back into him, setting a pace that has Stiles panting.

“YES! YES! YES!” Stiles yells as Derek manages to tag his prostate repeatedly, even though the pace is slower.

“This what you want?”

“YES! DEREK!”

“You want my cock? This Alpha cock, pounding into you?”

“Yes!” Stiles nods violently.

“So impatient, you couldn’t wait till I was awake, you had to fucking ride me before I woke up?”

“FUCK!” Stiles’ hands scramble for purchase on the sheets, trying to get his hand on his cock, but Derek intercepts his hands.

“You wanted me to fuck my come into you? You want my come?”

Stiles nods reverently, “Give it to me!”

“Earn it. Come on my cock just because of how good I’m giving it to you.” Derek whispers, snarling into Stiles’ ear.

“Fuck!” Stiles’ head is swimming. He wants to come so badly, but he needs his cock to be stimulated.

“You bit me last night,” Derek says, and Stiles has never been so hard, so on the edge of an unstimulated orgasm. “You just don’t fucking know when to quit. You push me to the edges of my control. Can you feel the way my nails are sharper than normal? How I’m just a little hairier than usual? How my eyes are probably glowing red right now, knowing you’re about to come on my dick untouched?”

Derek pushes forward, chest flush with Stiles back and it makes his cock slide deliciously against Stiles’ prostate, “Can you feel my teeth; itching to sink into your delicate throat so that I can taste your desire as you tasted mine? Can you feel how my cock is straining inside you, how the base of it is just a tiny bit thicker? If I let myself, I’d knot you up so good.”

Stiles screams as he comes untouched and Derek is still, deep inside Stiles’ body.

“Fuck!” Derek whines, “thinking about it, thinking about you milking my knot, makes me want to bust a nut so bad.”

“Do it, give it to me. Derek. FUCK! PLEASE. Knot me.” Stiles whimpers, head shaking where it’s resting on his folded arms.

“You don’t know what you’re playing with, boy.”

“Derek, I don’t fucking care. GIVE. IT. TO. ME.” Stiles says, punctuating each word with the rhythmic clench of his hole, and that’s all it takes for Derek to bust his nut deep inside Stiles.

When he pulls away, Stiles pushes away from the pillow and glares at Derek. “You didn’t knot me.” He watches as Derek pads across the loft and enters the bathroom on the ground floor without comment.

He thinks Derek is about to tell him they can’t do this anymore, but he doesn’t, and they keep at it.

Multiple times a day, even. But Derek doesn't knot him. Not once in all those days.

Maybe it’s something special.

* * *

The gnomes ambush Stiles when he’s at the store. He thought he’d buy Derek some groceries since he was the one eating all of Derek’s stuff. Stiles is putting groceries in his car when he’s hit on the head and everything goes black.

When he comes to, he’s got three gnomes peering into his face and he yells in surprise.

“What do you want?”

“Relinquish control over the land.”

“What?”

“Are you stupid? Give us control of the land.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“You control the land, so you should be able to give it up.”

“What? Look, buddy! I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but I don’t have control over any land. My dad owns our house, and Derek owns the apartment building he lives in, I have no control over anything. Zilch, Nada, Nothing, Zero.” The punch to the face shouldn’t really surprise Stiles, but it does. Damn the gnomes have a good right hook.

“Stop being intentionally obtuse. We want the power of the Hale land.”

“I feel like that’s something you should take up with Derek. You know, _The Alpha_?”

“He doesn’t control the land. The Emissary does.”

“Sorry, that would be -- Deaton. But he kind of mysteriously left when Scott did.”

“Deaton is Scott’s emissary then, you are Hale’s.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Stop trying to make us DTR, you magic assholes. I am not the Hale Emissary. Never was, never will be. And moreover, I don’t want anything to do with Derek.”

The blast takes him by surprise. Damn, he’d gotten used to the quiet life.

Derek looks pissed as he swarms in, Stiles’ dad hot on his heels and Argent too. “What the fuck!” Stiles screams before he’s kicked in the head and blacks out.

Stiles wakes up in Derek’s loft, and Derek’s asleep in the uncomfortable chair beside the bed. It takes him a minute to realize that his bladder’s what made him wake up. He isn’t looking forward to making the trip to the bathroom, but as he does, he realizes his body is tired but he’s surprisingly without any aches and pains. He pees, flushes and washes his hands. There’s a bruise forming near his temple and when he touches it gingerly, it hurts like a mother-.

He screams when he walks out to find Derek looming by the door.

“WHAT. THE. _FUCK_. Are you trying to kill me too?” Stiles says, waving Derek off as he walks around him. But Derek grabs his hand and reels him in.

“Wha—“ Derek cuts off whatever Stiles was about to say, by pressing a soul melting kissing to Stiles’ mouth, stealing the words and thoughts out of his head. Stiles’ flailing hands find purchase in Derek’s hair before slipping down to grip tightly onto his Henley. Derek’s mouth is bruising against his, and even with his roughness, there is a softness with the way Derek is holding him; the way he pulls Stiles closer and shifts them. The way he cradles Stiles’ head when he presses Stiles into the wall so that his head doesn’t bang against the exposed brick. The way he mouths down Stiles’ face and bruises Stiles’ neck, pressing his hard cock against Stiles’ hip.

“Fuck me.” Stiles whimpers, when Derek’s ears turn slightly pointy and his sharp teeth press deeper into the skin at the base of Stiles’ throat. Derek whines. “Please.”

Derek grips Stiles ass, lifting him, one arm wrapping one of Stiles flailing legs around his waist. And fuck if it isn’t hot that this man can fucking carry Stiles like he weighs nothing. But before his thoughts can lead to him asking to be fucked against the wall, ankles around Derek’s neck, he’s being thrown down on the bed.

There’s something different about the way Derek’s touching him and looking at him. It makes Stiles feel vulnerable and exposed; it scares him. He turns over to avoid looking at Derek, and Derek lets him. He preps Stiles slowly, one finger at a time. He’s brought Stiles to the edge of orgasm three times with his hands and mouth pressed against Stiles’ rim. Derek’s got four fingers deep in Stiles’ ass, his thumb tracing the rim, wanting in, and Stiles whines when the edge of it slides in. Stiles is nearly in tears, his face blotchy and pink, and his cock hard enough to cut diamonds. He’s delirious and incoherent and he really wants Derek inside him, so he doesn’t protest when Derek turns him over. He doesn’t protest, when Derek hitches Stiles’ legs over his thighs, pulling him up, cock dragging deliciously against his taint. He doesn’t protest when Derek slides inside this way, face-to-face when they’ve never fucked this way before. 

He doesn’t protest when Derek grabs his hands when they reach for his cock, pushing them up to trap them up against the pillows. He doesn’t protest when it brings Derek close enough to kiss, even though he doesn’t. He doesn’t protest when Derek holds eye contact as he withdraws, and pushes back in. He doesn’t protest when the action makes him notice the widening of Derek’s pupils. He doesn’t protest when Derek sighs, eyes going half-lidded when a certain movement makes Stiles clench around Derek deliciously. He doesn’t protest when Derek lets go of Stiles’ hands with a warning look, hitching his legs higher and starting a punishing rhythm that makes Stiles feel like he might die if it stops.

He doesn’t protest when Derek pushes up and kisses him mid-fuck, Stiles’ mind reels. Their breaths are labored and lingering between them.

“Fuck, Derek! I – I – I – I --” Stiles stutters, when he comes, eyes slipping closed but not before he notices Derek’s eyes widening.

There is an uncomfortable stretch inside him, and moving makes it feel like he’s going to come again, so he stops squirming. He can feel Derek’s abs twitching as he comes, and comes, and comes some more. Stiles feels so good and full. He clenches down on the intrusion in his ass, and it feels so right. He moans; Derek groans, face buried against Stiles’ throat. Stiles fidgets, cock half-hard and filling quickly and Derek’s abs contract again from another wave of come. Stiles squirms himself into an untouched orgasm and whines when he clenches down around Derek, Derek’s fingers tightening their already bruising grip on his hip.

* * *

Stiles doesn’t remember the whole fight.

He doesn’t remember what he said to make Derek leave. But Derek is gone before Stiles’ asshole has stopped gaping from Derek’s knot.

He doesn’t remember what happened. But Derek’s keys are on the kitchen island – he remembers being told: “This place will always be yours.” And he remembers the way Derek’s eyes turned sad just before he walked out the door.

He doesn’t remember the month that follows because it is soaked in Jim Bean and Jack Daniels. He remembers one night when he met a guy with green eyes and stubble at Jungle and dragged him out of Jungle. He remembers being faced with a face full of dick and throwing up before he could even try to get the unappealing dick down his throat. He remembers trying to find girls with soft breasts and blonde hair and blue eyes instead, and failing miserably at trying to get it up.

He can feel a hollowness inside him that hurt.

A constant pain.

A chasm in his chest that nothing could fill.

And he tried his best to forget it with alcohol and people he didn’t really want to fuck.

He wakes up in the drunk tank one day, it’s early enough that the sun hasn’t risen yet. Stiles’ head is pounding and he really wants some water but his dad sitting in his cell.

“Where’s Derek?”

“What?”

“Derek Hale.”

“He left.”

“He left?”

“Did I stutter?”

“But—“

“Look, man. I don’t know what you think you know. But, Derek Hale deserves to get out. He deserves to be happy, and Beacon Hills just sucks any possibility of happiness out.”

His dad just looks at him for a long time, fingers steepled under his chin. He gets up and walks out the cell door. When he turns to lock the door, he looks Stiles straight in the eye before he says, “then why didn’t you want to leave?”

His dad doesn’t wait for an answer, but the question cuts Stiles up inside. He doesn’t deserve to be happy. It’s the simplest and most honest answer.

When Parrish lets him out at 9 a.m. he says, “go home, Stiles. Your dad is worried sick, and I’m starting to get worried about him, too. He’s so busy trying to figure out what to do to help you, he’s stopped taking care of himself.”

He thinks back to his conversation with his father earlier that morning, and he can’t believe he didn’t notice how old and haggard he had looked. His uniform had been stained and unironed, his shoes unpolished in what looked like days. It wasn’t like his dad to stray from protocol like this.

Perhaps he had been wrong about his dad.

When he goes home three days later, duffle bag in hand, he tries the door and finds it open. “What the fuck?” He pads inside to find his dad passed out at the table, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the table a photograph of Stiles and his mom from when he was eight clutched tightly against his chest.

When he tries to get his dad up the stairs, his dad starts mumbling. “Stiles? Y’home? Lu’ya smch. Ish I knew howta be btter. Wsh y’d come hm. Imma lev dador opn for you, kay?”

He checks his dad’s schedule to find he has the morning shift. Stiles won’t get sleep tonight anyways so he looks up videos on YouTube before he makes his dad breakfast when he hears his dad stumble out of bed. He leaves before his dad comes down.

He runs when he hears his dad yell his name and race out the door.

But he watches from his hiding place in a nearby bush when he dad crumples onto the driveway, face in his hands. _What has he done?_

The ache doesn’t go away.

But Stiles stops trying to drink it away. He goes and makes his dad breakfast every day and sends a healthy meal to the station for his dad every day but he doesn’t stick around to meet him. Until one day he does. He waits as his dad makes his way down the steps, he watches his dad’s eyes widen when he sees Stiles sitting at the dining table. He sees the way his dad freezes, the uncertainty, and doubt that fill in the new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. His hair is a little grayer than he remembers it being. But his dad doesn’t say anything, just goes to the fridge and pulls out the carton of Orange Juice, bringing it to the table.

“So, werewolves, huh?” His dad says, and Stiles spit takes the coffee he’d just taken a sip of.

* * *

Things aren’t magically better. The ache isn’t going away.

Scott visits Beacon Hills and _forgets_ to tell Stiles. But Stiles doesn’t rise to the bait (if it even exists). He doesn’t try to meet Scott because looking back, he realizes that Scott had started drifting away from him long before he killed Donovan, probably even before the Nogitsune. Trauma acted like a band-aid, and now that they weren’t fighting for their lives constantly, Stiles can see how far the distance between them is.

He knows his dad met Scott. He knows because his dad invites him to dinner with Scott at _Francesco’s_ , and Stiles declines the invite as politely as he can. Instead, Stiles buys two burgers meals at Mary Anne’s (complete with milkshakes and curly fries) and goes to the Hospital.

“Hi, Melissa,” Stiles says, and it’s a testament to their relationship that as soon as she sees him, her face goes soft and open for a second before concern takes over.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I was wondering if I could tempt you to take a break and have dinner with me?”

“Oh, honey. Of course, let me just finish updating this patient file, and I’ll come find you in the Nurses’ break room?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Stiles has so many memories of walking down the hallways of this hospital. Memories that go back a lot longer than the werewolf crap that overtook his life. He was always an accident-prone child, add to that his proclivity to find trouble and an unhealthy dose of curiosity, and much of his childhood was spent in the E.R. When his mom got sick, he was at the hospital every day while his dad was at work – this meant that Stiles spent a lot of time with Melissa, but it also meant that he knew pretty much all the veteran Nurses, EMTs, and Paramedics that worked at Beacon Hills Medical Centre.

“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” Melissa says as she sits across from him at the small table in the Break Room.

“Nothing. I realized I hadn’t seen you in forever. I thought I’d stop by.” Melissa grows quiet and sad, reaching out to take Stiles’ hands in hers.

“Oh, honey. I know you and Scott aren’t that close anymore. But I still like to think of you as my son, just as your dad thinks of Scott as his son. I know they’re having dinner tonight.”

“I swear it isn’t because of that.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“Melissa, no. You’ve been a mother figure to me for most of my life. Longer than my own mother was. I’ve been in a bad place for the last few years and I didn’t know how to cope. I don’t think I still do. But part of the reason I stayed away was because of that. I love you. And yes, I decided tonight because it was convenient and I knew Scott and my dad were meeting up. But I’ve been meaning to come down to the Hospital or the house and talk to you. I promise.” His eyes are watering and he wipes furiously at his eyes with his shoulder. He can see tears in Melissa’s eyes as well, but he holds onto her hands tightly, praying that she sees how sincere he is.

“I believe you, Stiles,” Melissa says, but then she’s standing and pulling Stiles up to his feet as well. “Oh kiddo, I’ve missed you so much!”

Melissa always gives the best hugs -- warm, all-encompassing, soft and yet firm. Her hugs have always made Stiles feel like nothing bad could ever happen and now is not an exception. An unwitting sob escapes his lips, and her arms tighten around him in response.

By the end of the evening, he has an appointment scheduled with Dr. Steinberg, a psychologist (who is apparently, in the know about Supernatural stuff). The dead pool may have been terrible, but it brought the supernatural community in Beacon Hills together in some ways – the enemy of my enemy is a friend after all. While things between supernatural communities weren't without conflict, there were many alliances formed and people were able to create a support structure for each other that wasn’t _too_ dependent on each other. Knowing that Dr. Steinberg is a supernatural creature, helps Stiles be honest about his experiences and trauma and it allows Dr. Steinberg to help him in a more authentic and holistic way.

* * *

Dr. Steinberg doesn’t pull any punches. She is no nonsense, and Stiles is frankly a little intimidated by her, but it’s wildly freeing to be able to talk to someone about all the shit he’s been through without censorship. She is patient and kind, and when Stiles can’t go on she doesn’t push him. She tells him that if it’s something he can’t talk about now, he can talk about it later when he’s ready; and it’s not that Stiles isn’t ready. It’s just that the panic comes in waves when he starts talking about certain aspects of his possession. He doesn’t even know where to begin with Derek – just thinking about him makes Stiles’ stomach turn sour – the ache in his heart growing unbearable and breathing becomes something his mind thinks is optional.

But talking to Dr. Steinberg helps him with his Dad and with Melissa. She encourages him to reach out to Scott and Scott’s pack. She tells him he needs closure on his relationships with Malia and Lydia. She encourages him to find that closure. And he does.

He calls Lydia one night. It’s still early enough to be a little past dinner on the East Coast, and Lydia picks up with a brusque “Hello, Stiles. What do you want?” They talk about a lot of things. They talk about the past, about Malia, about their relationship, about their non-break-up break-up. It is cathartic in a way, and he can tell that it’s helped Lydia as well because her tone’s gone soft and caring like it was when they started dating. They’ve both been crying, but it was good.

Getting in touch with Malia is a lot harder. He emails her a four-thousand-word email with everything he wants her to hear and signs it off with his phone number. A week later she calls him, screaming into the phone. Getting Malia to calm down is a task in and of itself. By the time they get to talking, he wants to pull his hair out, but he perseveres. Malia and Stiles didn’t have the foundation of friendship to their relationship that Lydia and Stiles did. They fucked first and became friends later; after Stiles was already trying to help her pass as human; after he was already trying to get her caught up with six years of schoolwork so that she could graduate with other people her age. The end of their ‘relationship’ signaled the end of their friendship, and even though they would interact because of Scott and the pack, they wouldn’t really talk unless they had to. Talking to Malia is hard because getting her to understand the rationale behind his actions is tiresome, but he manages. He doesn’t know what he wants from Malia anymore. He never really knew what he wanted from Malia – she had nothing to give him. He never had any expectations from her or their relationship, and he supposes that if you don’t have any expectations from a relationship, it raises the question of whether it really is a relationship at all. Talking to Malia doesn’t really bring Stiles much closure, but it does help him put much of their relationship into perspective.

Most days Stiles is emotionally exhausted. He only meets Dr. Steinberg twice a week and those days are the worst, but she usually gives him tons of “homework” which makes him feel flayed and raw on the daily. But he can feel things shifting, slowly but surely. Before he knows it’s summer, it’s been almost nine months since he last saw or spoke to Derek, and the thought has him reaching for his anti-anxiety pills, even though he doesn’t really know why. Derek isn’t an unresolved ex-boyfriend. He was a fuck buddy; someone Stiles could blow off some steam with when things got really bad. The thought leaves a horrible taste in his mouth, though, so Stiles shoves the thought of Derek deep into the recesses of his mind. He doesn’t talk about Derek with Dr. Steinberg unless he absolutely has to. He never mentions their arrangement or the nature of their ‘relationship’. He knows that Dr. Steinberg can tell he’s holding back, but he just can’t bring himself to go there.

When Stiles gets to the events that happened after Graduation, specifically his involvement in Derek coming back and his last kidnapping, Dr. Steinberg puts him in touch with Juliette Watson. Miss Julie, as she likes to be referred to, isn’t a druid like Deaton and Morrel. She is something else and has seen things that Stiles can’t even imagine being witness to. She has books that are way older than she is and a knack for knowing what’s on Stiles’ mind. She meets Stiles once a week because it’s the only time the 95-year-old has to fit him in. For an old lady, she’s awfully spry and active – she’s tried to convince Stiles to join her Salsa classes on more than one occasion. Under Miss Julie’s guidance, Stiles learns about his spark, the inferno it can generate, and his connection to the land; and under Miss Julie’s guidance, Stiles starts weaving magic. Miss Julie calls it ‘weaving’ because it’s delicate, temperamental and requires a lot of patience and care. Stiles isn’t known for his patience, but the meditative trance Miss Julie teaches him to navigate through, allows him to hone his hyperactivity into pin-point focus and dedication.

As things get better for Stiles emotionally and psychologically, the ache in his chest intensifies; the chasm feels unbridgeable. As he grows more connected to his magic and the land, he feels as though the pieces of him that are missing are more significant. But he can’t bring himself to talk about it in therapy, or with Miss Julie. Miss Julie’s pitying looks are enough, he doesn’t need her to be aware of all the ghost that haunt him too.

He calls Scott up.

* * *

Scott doesn’t really have answers for him; not that Stiles expected him to. But he also doesn’t hang up on Stiles – so that’s progress, right?

They talk about a great many things – Donovan, Theo, Allison, the Nogitsune. They talk about the sacrifice and the Nemeton. They talk about Derek.

Scott doesn’t understand, but he lets Stiles get his frantic rambling off his chest. He doesn’t understand but he also doesn’t judge Stiles. Stiles always admired that the most about Scott. He always sees the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it. Scott listens and is just _there_.

“Why didn’t we do this before?” Stiles asks him a week after their first conversation.

“I was giving you space, you seemed to need it. And it seemed to have worked.”

“But it wasn’t. I thought you hated me.”

“Stiles. You’re my best friend. I could never hate you.”

“It sure felt like it. And it wasn’t even Donovan, or the Nogitsune, or Allison. Looking back it seems like we drifted apart long before the Sacrifice to the Nemeton.” Scott’s answering silence is telling, and Stiles feels numb.

“I never thought of it that way. I never thought we wouldn’t be best friends anymore, because for as long as I remember you’ve always been there. When my dad left, when I fell in love for the first time, when I lost my first love, when I turned into a werewolf, and then an Alpha. You were always there, Stiles. There was no scenario where you wouldn’t be a part of my life. But you’re right. Becoming the Alpha made my priorities change – I couldn’t be a teenager anymore. I had to lead my pack.”

“Was I not part of your pack, Scott?”

“Think about it, Stiles. I mean really think about it. Were you? Are you? You will always be my closest friend, but you’re already part of a pack that isn’t mine.”

“What? No. Scott – come on. I couldn’t be in anyone’s pack but yours.”

“But if Derek called and asked you to go to him, and I called you and asked you to come to me, who would you go to?” And it’s Stiles’ turn to not have an answer. “I don’t blame you, or hold it against you, Stiles. It just is what it is. I love you. I always will. Don’t doubt that.”

Stiles’ eyes prickle with unshed tears, and he can hear the sorrow in Scott’s voice, but he knows that Scott is right. He would always put Derek first. Leaving Derek hurt and potentially dying at La Iglesia was the hardest thing he ever had to do – and he wouldn’t have if Derek hadn’t told him to. It didn’t matter that Scott was potentially turning into a Berserker and would kill them all – all that mattered was that Derek was hurt, possibly fatally. He can still remember Derek telling him to save Scott -- not giving him the opportunity of a choosing because he knew losing Scott would devastate Stiles. Did Derek know, even back then that Stiles was his?

The thought of being Derek’s makes Stiles’ heart hurt and he pushes it deep down into the recesses of his mind. He can’t do this.

He calls Juana. Being around her and her posse always helped when his heart hurt.

They truss him up in their drag and ply him with drinks. They turn away guys who want to get with Stiles because Stiles has no intention of getting with them.

He’s dancing without abandon, a little drunk and so very sad, when broad strong hands grip his waist and pull him in. It reminds him so much of Derek his heart lurches, and he goes easily. The scrape of stubble along his throat is easy to picture, but when he turns in the man’s arms, he goes rigid. It isn’t Derek. I can’t be – Stiles made sure he left with cruel words and lies. He had to make sure Derek wasn’t trapped in this Hell Hole because even though Beacon Hills was Hale territory, it was cursed – and he couldn’t have Derek be a victim of that curse.

* * *

The cleanse is an idea that comes to him when he’s going through Miss Julie’s books on Purity and Prices. He knows the Nemeton was twisted into a place of darkness, but the Nemeton itself was never good or evil, it was just a conduit of other people’s wills.

When he talks to Miss Julie, she looks happy, but not surprised. She helps him gather all the ingredients, but there is one that she can’t help him with. He needs the Alpha. He needs Derek.

He calls Derek, but Derek doesn’t pick up.

He emails and calls every day, but there is no answer.

He tries reaching Cora, but she’s not in South America anymore – her Pack refuses to divulge any more information.

He calls Scott, Malia, Lydia. He even calls Chris Argent and Isaac in France – but nobody knows how to get in touch with Derek.

“Call him through the land,” Miss Julie says.

“I don’t think he’ll listen.”

“How do you know if you don’t try?”

“That’s how I called him the first time. I don’t think he’d want to help me anyway. I drove him away.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I don’t think I would if I were him.”

“But you aren’t him. Only he is.”

“I don’t know how I did it the last time, though. The last time it was instinct.”

“But this time, you’re connected to the land and the power and through it, the pack.”

“What if he doesn’t come, Miss Julie?”

“He will.”

“But what if—“

“He will, Stiles. Trust the land. Trust the bond. Trust your mate.”

“What?”

“Just call him, Stiles. The cleanse requires him to be here.”

“Okay.”

Miss Julie helps him set up, she talks him through the mechanics of using the pack bonds and land to call Derek. She holds his hand and helps him channel his magic. When he passes out, he isn’t afraid.

* * *

A roar wakes him up.

“Oh hush, young man. What do you think an Old Lady like me can do to a man as powerful as Stiles?”

“Der--?” There are big, strong hands helping him sit up, and his eyes flutter when a dizzy spell hits him.

“Who is this woman, Stiles? Why is your scent so ingrained in her house?” Stiles gestures towards the water jug, and Derek scrambles to pour him a glass. Stiles guzzles it down.

“Miss Julie, Derek. Derek, Miss Julie. She’s my mentor.” Derek glares at him from where he’s standing across the room, arms crossed over his chest.

“Why did you call me back? The last time we spoke you were adamant about where we stood in each other’s lives. I can’t keep doing this, Stiles.”

Stiles takes a good look at Derek then, his stubble is no longer a stubble but a full beard. He has bags under his eyes, and his appearance is disheveled – this isn’t the Derek that left him a year ago. But the clearest thought he has is that for the first time in a year, Stiles doesn’t feel like he’s empty, or hollow. There’s no ache inside his chest. He feels so complete – it just makes that former pain seem even more intense in remembrance.

“Stop, Stiles.” Derek sounds pained, his head is thrown back against the wall, and he’s pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

“What?” Stiles is so confused, but his confusion can wait because he has to tell Derek so much. “Derek I need your help.”

“Mine, why?”

“I need to cleanse the land.”

“What?”

“The Nemeton was corrupted, and because of it, the land was poisoned. I need to save it all. I need to save you. I have everything I need for the cleansing, but you need to perform a specific ritual.”

“Why me?”

“It has to be the Alpha.”

“And Scott said ‘No’? I can’t believe that.”

“Scott? Why would Sc—nevermind about Scott. You’re the alpha, it has to be you.” Stiles looks at Derek pleadingly, and he doesn’t know why Derek looks so sad about having to purify his lands, so Stiles repeats himself. “Derek, _you_ are the Alpha. It has to be you.”

Derek looks devastated. But his jaw clenches, and he nods. “You have my number. Call me when you’re ready.”

“Will you pick up this time?”

Derek hesitates, “Yes.” And then he’s reaching for the main door and walking out.

“I told you he’d come.” Miss Julie says from where she watched their exchange quietly. “He’s gorgeous, by the way. Good on you for bagging that – though it seems there a lot of things that need to be said there.”

“Miss Julie –“ Stiles starts, but the pain comes back with a vengeance, and Stiles didn’t know how bad it was until it was gone. Tears spill down his cheeks.

* * *

The ritual is simple. They go to the Nemeton on the New Moon. He places all the ingredients on the Nemeton stump and covers them with a black cloth.

Derek stands shirtless, smelling strongly of the scented oils Stiles had asked him to bathe with. Stiles himself bathed in the same oils. Miss Julie is overseeing from outside the circle Stiles casts around them.

As Stiles narrates the steps Derek has to take, and the words he has to say, Derek follows. They start with both Stiles and Derek cleansing themselves before they go on to cleanse the space.

When the ritual is complete black smoke rises from the stump of the Nemeton and dissipates. When the smoke clears, there is fresh, healthy sprig growing from the center of the Nemeton.

Once Stiles breaks the circle, he turns to face Derek.

“Have I completed what needed to be done?” Derek asks.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“So, I can go.” Stiles can see the strain in Derek’s muscles. He’s holding himself so tightly. The statement filters through Stiles’ brain then, and the thought of Derek leaving makes Stiles’ heart lurch. There’s a knot in his stomach and his throat and his eyes prickle with tears. He refuses to cry, though.

“If that’s what you want,” Stiles says through the lump in his throat.

“If I--? Stiles. What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re the one who made me leave. _You_ told me you weren’t my pack. _You_ told me I was nothing more than a release valve. You’re everyth--. I can’t do this.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, sincerely.

“Sorry? You’re _sorry_? Stiles…”

“Before you leave, come home for dinner. My dad was asking about you a few months ago. I think he misses you.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think tha—“

“Please, Derek. I swear I will never contact you again. Just one dinner.”

“Ok.”

Stiles turns to gather his things, but that’s about the limit for his careful control. The thought of never contacting Derek, never seeing his face, or hearing his voice, or fighting with him makes tears slip down his face unbidden.

“Why wasn’t I enough?” Stiles whirls around, wiping furiously at his eyes. He thought Derek was gone.

“Wha---“

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I thought for sure you felt the same, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stiles, what I feel for you--” Derek has so much pain in his eyes, and Stiles wishes he could take it all away. “I could swear with the way you look at me sometimes you feel the same. But you didn’t lie when you told me we weren’t significant. You didn’t lie when you told me you wanted me to go. I don’t understand. Why wasn’t I enough?”

“Derek—“ Stiles’ head falls forward in defeat.

“I need to know, Stiles. If I have to walk away. I need to know. It has been killing me since the day I left. There are days I find myself driving to you, and I have to force myself to turn back. It hurts so much.”

“It’s hurting you too?”

“What do you mean ‘too’? Are you hurting, Stiles?”

“I can’t tell you, Derek. I won’t want you to leave. And you deserve better.”

“What?”

“Please don’t make me.”

“Stiles, what are you talking about!?” Derek takes Stiles’ hands into his so gently, the tears come back. “Stiles?”

“I lied. Okay?” Stiles weeps. “I never wanted you gone. But I had to get you out of here. This place was cursed. You lost Paige first, then your family, then Laura, then Peter, then your Pack, and you almost lost Cora. I couldn’t let this place take you too. I needed you to be safe, and safe was anywhere but here. And it was more than that, you deserve to be with someone amazing – someone kind and compassionate, who can love you completely, whom you can love completely and not worry about being murdered or betrayed. You are so wonderful, and I couldn’t have you be stuck with me. You deserve better. That night when you fucked me, it wasn’t what we had mutually agreed upon. It wasn’t just sex – it was, I don’t even know, making love or whatever – and when you did what you did to me, I knew I had to let you go before you fell into that rabbit hole. I was such a wreck, Derek. I still am. I just want better for you.”

Derek is silent, just watching Stiles for a long time, while Stiles hiccups for breath through his tears. Derek doesn’t try to help or placate Stiles. “What about what I want?”

“What?”

“You talked a lot about what you want for me. But what about me? What about what I want?”

“You can’t make good objective choices, Derek.”

“My mistakes are mine to make, Stiles. In hindsight, sure I hate that I was manipulated by Kate, and Jennifer and Peter. I wish I could go back and change that. I wish Cora was part of my pack, that Scott had wanted to be a part of my pack. I wish I could have saved Erica and Boyd. I wish Isaac still thought of me as his Alpha. I wish Jackson was still here because I think he could have made a good pack member. And all that stuff about Kindness and Compassion. Stiles, when will you learn that you are Kindness and Compassion personified. It was never just sex with you and me. You have to know that. I will always want you – just you. I love you. There, I said it. I _love_ you. And I will till the day I die.”

“Derek…” Stiles whispers, hiccupping on a sob.

“No, Stiles. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine. But if you’re doing this out of some sort of altruism – I refuse. I can’t – “ He looks at his palms. “What I did to you that night. It only happens with one person in our entire lifetime – you’re it for me. I can’t imagine any world or universe where -- ”

Stiles flies into Derek’s arms, covers his mouth with both palms and pushes Derek back against the Nemeton that has been growing rapidly behind them. “Stop. Please, stop.”

“Stiles.” Derek cups Stiles’ face gently, brushing away the tears on his cheeks. He presses a kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles rectifies it. Mouths open against one another and Derek turns them around, pressing Stiles up against the tree and pushing his legs between Stiles’. His growing erection slides against Stiles’ answering one. Derek pulls away, “If you don’t want this –“

Stiles shuts Derek up with a bruising kiss, and Derek hitches one of Stiles’ legs over his hip and pressing him more firmly into the Nemeton. Stiles whispers a spell against Derek’s lips and moans when he feels its effects – it’s the first time he’s used it and he didn’t realize how intense it would feel. He pushes Derek’s sweats down over his ass. Stiles shudders when Derek rips his sweats off leaving him bare to the elements. Derek’s fingers trail down his taint, mouth gasping when he feels how wet and open Stiles is.

“Fuck,” Derek whispers breathlessly.

“Neat trick, huh? I modified it a little but this is the first time I’ve gotten to try it out.”

“Stiles—“

“Derek just, I want you inside me. I want all of you.”

Derek’s head falls forward, resting against Stiles’ clavicle. Stiles takes a hold of Derek’s cock and strokes it a couple of times till Derek stills his hand “Stop or I won’t last. I haven’t – not since –“

The thought that Derek hadn’t been with anyone but Stiles in over a year is thrilling, and Stiles pulls Derek in closer. “Fuck me.” He whispers against Derek’s mouth.

“Stiles—“ Derek whines. He lifts Stiles up and pins him to the tree effortlessly. Stiles wraps both legs around Derek’s waist. They both groan when Derek breaches Stiles.

“Fuck, I dream about this every night. You and me; and my memories only help so much. I want you to fuck me, Derek. Remind me who my Alpha is. Remind me who my mate is.” Derek whines, face pressed against Stiles’ throat, as he pulls back and pushes in.

“Stiles.” Derek chants, hips moving at a brutal pace, cock hitting Stiles’ prostate every few thrusts. Stiles is mewling, nails clawing into Derek’s back.

“I don’t think I can hold it back, Stiles,” Derek confesses.

“Don’t.”

“Stiles, I’m going to knot you.” He says it matter-of-factly, but Stiles moans in response.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Please, Derek, give it to me.”

“Stiles,” Derek warns when Stiles clenches down on Derek’s cock, an act that almost has him coming. Derek’s face goes back into Stiles’ throat, and Stiles can feel Derek’s teeth press against his vulnerable skin. His head lifts and tilts in submission of its own volition, making Derek snarl in response.

“Do you. Have any. Idea. What you look like. Right now.” Derek says, hips punctuating the statement in various inconvenient places with sharp, precise thrusts.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles says, grinding down with what little leverage he has. He pushes Derek’s face harder against his throat. “Do it,” Stiles whispers.

“Do you know what—“

“I do, Derek. Do it.”

“Fuck.” Derek whine, the base of his cock thickening, fangs pressing harder against Stiles’ throat, drawing blood. Stiles whines, nails digging crescents into Derek’s ass as he comes, back arched. He slumps forward nuzzling into Derek’s Trapezius as Derek chases his own orgasm.

Stiles’ mouth opens on a moan when Derek grazes his sensitive prostate, his teeth catching on Derek’s taunt muscles as he shudders with after-shock of his orgasm. Stiles’ teeth in Derek’s shoulders sets off a chain reaction, Derek’s face and hands go furry, his hips punch up involuntarily, forcing him as deep as he can go in Stiles. His knot forms so rapidly, Derek’s knees give out and they tumble to the ground, Derek flipping them over so that Stiles lands on top of him and doing his best to not jostle Stiles and hurt him.

When they catch their breath, Stiles, pushes off of Derek’s chest, smirking. “Biting do it for you, huh?”

“You do it for me.”

“Did we just get werewolf married?”

“Kinda.”

“Did you just shift on a new moon?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” Derek chuckles.

“I thought you were like 99% human on New Moons”

“Me too, but apparently, getting werewolf married overrides the power of the New Moon. Shifting is part of the mating ritual.”

“Oh.”

Derek’s hold tightens around Stiles’ waist, holding him in place and whining when Stiles squirms.

“I’m scared,” Stiles whispers.

“Me too,” Derek says. “But like I said, this is it for me. _You_ are it for me. You’re my present and my future. Please don’t make me leave again. Letting you go is always the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Every. Single. Damn. Time.”

“I won’t. I promise. I want to be selfish. I want to keep you forever.”

“You already have me forever. I love you, Stiles.”

“Dere—“

“You don’t have to say it.”

“Even if I want to? Even if I feel it with every breath I take?”

“Yep, even then.””

“I love you, Derek.” Derek exhales loudly with a relieved sigh.

Stiles suddenly stiffens and blushes hotly. “Did we just fuck in front of Miss Julie?”

“No, she left as soon as the ritual was complete,” Derek says, kissing Stiles’ temple. “We did, however, fuck against the Nemeton. Will we have to do another cleanse?”

“Nah. Consensual Sex is pure magic. I think we may actually have benefited the Nemeton in a unique way.” Derek leans up to kiss Stiles again.

The Nemeton is warm and pulsing beneath them, and the ground is soft and comfortable. It feels like home – safe and wrapped up in each other. They fall asleep in the preserve still caught up in each other and emotionally drained but knowing that tomorrow will be better than all the Yesterdays put together. They can’t wait for what the future has in store for them because come what may, they have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Scott & Lydia's colleges start in August, but they both go to campus in June because they manage to get summer jobs as Research Assistants. Scott in the Biology department at UC Davis, and Lydia in the Physics department at MIT. 
> 
> Boyd and Erica are dead. Isaac is in France with Chris Argent. Cora has a pack in South America, but part of her wants to be a part of Derek's pack. Jackson is in England, he is not a pack member with either pack. Malia and Peter run away in the middle of Senior year -- Peter is morally ambiguous but he has good reasons for being bad, usually.
> 
> Deaton moved to UC Davis to be closer to Scott. Beacon Hills is Hale territory and Deaton is no longer a Hale Emissary. 
> 
> Baby betas are not in this fic -- Sorry Liam, Mason, Corey and Haley.
> 
> Mentions of Theo, Donovan, the Nogitsune, Allison. Mentions of La 
> 
> Regarding the Magic Assisted Prepping at the end, it was more because of Stiles' impatience and the fact that there was no lube around. Stiles didn't want to wait, and he knew the Nemeton witnessing them completing their mating would be beneficial. So yeah. If you don't like it, well, tough-shizz. <3 
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you for stopping by and reading my lil' story. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you comment and/or leave kudos. 
> 
> Con-crit is welcome. You are welcome to KEEP all other negative comments IN YOUR OWN MIND and not put them on my feed. 
> 
> Positivity is ALWAYS welcome.


End file.
